No one ever said it would be this hard
by A'B.x
Summary: Estate kids will never amount to much, and Carla's living on the roughest. Her home's a drug den,she hates her mum's fella and she's sure she won't like the new lodger...Or will she? Please take note of the written warnings throughout!
1. Chapter 1

_Authors Note; Hello! I've wanted to write a fic for a while, but haven't really got around to it. I'll try and update regularly, though once I start back at college I might not be able to update with consistency, but I will make up for this in the holidays! This fic is definitely AU. I'm borrowing Corrie's characters, but I don't own them. (I wish.) The ages will be a little mixed up, but I need to do this in order for it to make sense. Don't be worrying about it! Like I said, it's AU, so just sit back and enjoy the read. (If you can.) I'm borrowing the amazing Carla Connor, the very attractively adorable Peter Barlow, Weatherfield's answer to scum, Frank Foster (No offence to Andrew Lancel.) and there will be mentions of Carla's mum, Perhaps Michelle and Carla's L.A friend, Suzie. Because it's AU, Carla won't be having anything to do with Paul or Liam, so if you ship Liarla, then move on. This is a CARTER fic. In this Fic, I'm having Carla as a fifteen year old schoolgirl, Peter will be popping up as a twenty-one year old Uni student, Carla's mum will be in her mid-thirties and Frank will also be of similar age. I won't give much away to how they all fit together, because I know you'll be getting bored of this incredibly long and dull author's note, so I'll just get on with it! Rated T! For bad language, drug use and in later chapter 's there could be sexual assault. So, if you think you will be affected by this, then please discontinue reading. And, if you are discontinuing reading, I hoped you skipped to the bottom of this paragraph rather than reading through the whole load of babble up there. :') ^^ I should have put the warnings first, really._

**No one ever said it would be this hard.**

Estate kids never amount to much. At least, that's what was said about the estate she lived on. It was definitely the roughest. The dirtiest. The noisiest. The most dangerous. Yet, she'd lived there all of her life. Her dad had cleared off without so much as a backwards glance. She didn't know where he was, nor did she care. There weren't really many things that she cared about. Her mother cared, but only about her habit. Her fix. Being fifteen, and forced to grow up living in what could only be described as a drug den, it was surprising that she'd never succumbed to a sneaky snort of the white stuff herself. But, no, Carla had seen what it could do. How it could make you behave. How it could draw you in and make you lower yourself to standards that made her feel sick, just to get a few lines before bedtime. She was used to blokes coming and going, as they pleased. As long as they brought business. Dealt the stuff that came in brown packages, that she had no interest in seeing. Carla didn't really get the 'business', herself. She didn't really take much notice of what was going on. Dealer's would come and go, sometimes they would come for supplies, sometimes they would be the supplier. Sometimes, her mum was so desperate for that little boost that when she was out of money, she'd have to resort to other methods of payment. Methods that involved her leading leering, filthy perverts, upstairs, by the hand, dressed in a slinky nighty. Carla had no desire to be around when her mum was up to her dirty tricks, so spend most of her time staying as out of the way of her 'home' as she could.

That was before this new fella came along. Frank, he was called. Her mum had fetched him home one night. He'd become a frequent visitor, before eventually moving in. Carla could see why, he provided the stableness that her mother needed. Frank ran a business, a seemingly professional one. But, it was just a backdrop. A backdrop for what really went on behind closed doors. Carla knew that material wasn't the only thing he imported, and clothing was definitely not the only thing he exported from that little warehouse set up of his. Still, her mum got what she wanted. Living with an expert, someone who could provide her with as much of the stuff as she could take. It might have been sweet, in a sickening way. Her mum was happy, it seemed, with Frank. Frank would spend most of the day working, bringing money amongst other things in, which Carla's mum would splurge on weekend binges away, often leaving Frank sprawled out across the sofa, taking over the TV, content with smoking something that sure as hell wasn't legal. It seemed as though those two had found the perfect set up.

"Thank fuck, it's Friday. Can you believe Walter-the-wart's given us all three sections of that essay to write? There's no way that's getting done for Monday. I've got a life." Suzie complained, referring to their male English teacher, who had unfortunately been blessed with quite an unsightly wart at the left side of his balding head. Carla sighed, nodding in agreement. Although, the essay gave her a perfect excuse to shut herself up in her room, blocking everyone who may be at her house, out. She was walking home from school with Suzie, linking arms with her. Her free hand held a can of coke, which she was taking frequent sips from.

"Ey, did you hear what was flying around today? Apparently, Michelle fucked Dean last night. You know, him in sixth form? He rides that bike about, like he's something. She's only known him five minutes, she's a bit of a slag."

"Don't, she's not that bad." Carla mumbled, though she was only half concentrating on what Suzie was telling her. They were drawing closer to her street, and Carla wasn't looking forward to going home, hadn't been since the day Frank had started getting aggressive around the house. He'd been there just over six months now, and acted as though he owned it, and Carla's mum let him. Not that she was ever there. Now that Frank's dirty money was rolling in, she was often away spending the money on anything but bills and decent food.

"Are you listening? You're miles away. You've been like this for a while now…" Suzie frowned, she couldn't help but notice the change in her friend. Carla was feisty, loud mouthed and knew what she wanted. But, recently, some of the fight had left. She was alright at school, she still wound the teacher's up, giving them backchat and she still had frequent, catty arguments with girls in their year that she just couldn't stand. It was just afterwards, when she didn't have to wear her protective armour.

"I'm just tired, it's since I started working…" Carla lied, giving a small shrug. The part about work wasn't a lie, she did odd shifts at the corner shop, earning her a little money that wasn't tainted, that she could spend how she wished without feeling disgusting. She'd only ever once taken Frank's, and even then she had been desperate. The fridge had been stocked with nothing but alcohol and there was only so long she could have gone living off of crisps and without any hot water.

"I'll see you later. If I've got time, I'll ring you tomorrow and we'll go out?" Carla suggested, coming to a halt outside her gate. One that was broken and opened into a garden teaming with weeds and nettles. She felt bad that she'd be come to distant with her friends, especially Suzie.

"Yeah, alright, if not I'll see you Monday." Suzie gave her a small wave before turning the corner, going to her house. To a house that was clean and warm and welcoming. She knew Suzie's mum. She knew she'd be waiting for her, waiting to ask if she'd had a good day, offering her a drink or something to eat. With a heavy sigh and a heart to match, Carla turned and picked her way along her garden path, turning the handle of the front door, which she had to give a heavy shove before it unstuck and swung open.

"Carla, that better be you! I've been waiting around ten minutes, you're late." Frank's voice was slightly slurred, a sign that he'd been drinking. Or getting high. Possibly both. Stumbling slightly, Frank made his way into the hallway, his pungent, bitter scent almost overpowering. On reaching her, he thrust a square brown package at her with so much force she stumbled herself, taking a few steps back.

"There's a car on the corner, getting impatient. That belongs to him. Your mum was supposed to be back an hour ago to take it to him, but I haven't heard a word from the daft bitch all day."

Carla raised her eyebrow, glancing down at the parcel in her hands, before looking back up at Frank.

"Why can't you take it out to him?" The idea of becoming involved in one of Frank's deals, however insignificant her part was, was something she wanted to try and get out of. She didn't want to be recognised on the street in the way that Frank was recognised.

"Because he doesn't know I'm here. And he can't find out, either. Otherwise he's likely to get his cronies and smash my face in. The last time I supplied him there was a bit of a mix u-..Why am I even telling you? Just go to the corner and give it to him before he comes looking."

"I quite like the idea of him coming looking. I like the idea of him smashing your face in." Carla snapped, though knew it was foolish to. Almost as soon as she'd finished speaking Frank had reached out, taking a fistful of her hair, turning her back around.

"If you don't do as I say, _I'll _smash _your_ face in." He growled, giving her a rough shove towards the front door. Carla wrenched herself from his grip, gritting her teeth to stop herself from uttering even a whimper of discomfort.

"Alright, you dirty bastard, let me go and I'll do it." She gave the door a hard kick, taking a step out. As long as she did what he'd said, she could pretty much get away with throwing anything at him. It gave her comfort, in a way, snapping back at him. Like she still had some fight left in her. Even though ultimately, he was always winning, she was still doing his dirty work. He'd never really hurt her, properly. He'd hit her, a few times. But nothing serious. She was fifteen, and the idea of going into care wasn't something she wanted to even consider. She'd be sixteen soon. Old enough to leave home. She already knew she was going to throw herself into work, and save like crazy. She could get her own place, and then take things from there. She was popular, she had friends, it wasn't as if she was completely on her own.

Her heart was hammering a little when she clapped eyes on the red car on the corner and she had to force herself to put one foot infront of the other. She wouldn't be in this situation forever, she had to keep reminding herself that. She just had to play along. Play along until she was free. After that, Frank could rot in hell.

_( It's not brilliant, this was just a bit of a background chapter to let you know what sort of life she's living at the moment. Things will get more dramatic and exciting in chapters to come. And I'll be introducing Peter very soon! There will be upcoming physical abuse in later chapters, too, but you'll be warned when they arrive!)_


	2. Chapter 2

_A/n; Thankyou for all your reviews! (: Warnings for physical and verbal abuse, in this chapter!_

Things were getting progressively worse for Carla. Her mum still wasn't back, and Frank's business was suffering. His main supplier had gone bust, which meant his own supply was very minimal. Being an addict, selling what little stock her had for money completely went out of the window, and instead he chose to take them himself, occasionally selling small doses to people from the area, who called in. But it wasn't serious money, not like before. Twenty quid wouldn't go very far. Not when Frank would use it to supply himself. He'd started to hit out more. She was used to him being aggressive, but not this aggressive, as her screaming muscles confirmed when she dragged herself up from her bed. Hard against the wall, that's what he'd thrown her against, spaced off his face, he was. That's why she was upstairs right now, out of his way, but she couldn't stay there forever. It hurt to swallow, her throat was like sandpaper. She didn't dare use the bathroom sink to get a drink from, she'd rather die of thirst than die from whatever disease was around the faded silver, dirt encrusted taps. At least, it looked like dirt. It was green and black and flecks of it ended up in the water whenever she ran the taps to fill the sink.

The buzz of the TV was vibrating the floorboards in her bedroom, and the most frustrating thing was that Frank wouldn't even be taking notice of what was on, he'd just be running up a nice, big electricity bill that they couldn't afford to pay. Trudging down the stairs, she quickly walked past the living room and into the kitchen, it was better not to be noticed by him. After a much needed drink from the tap, she realised how ravenous she was. It was hard to remember the last time she'd eaten, eaten properly. The fridge was empty. Half a bottle of cheap cider. It smelt and tasted like petrol and she wrinkled her nose in disgust.

"That's mine, you dozy bitch." Frank seemed to have appeared from nowhere, making Carla splutter, spraying the foul tasting liquid down her front. Still coughing, she wiped her hand over her mouth, screwing the lid back on the bottle.

"You can have it. It's cheap and disgusting, a bit like you." Carla snapped, shoving the bottle with some force, back into the fridge, slamming the door.

"And what are you, exactly? Come on, O'Brien, what's special about you? You could disappear and no one would care. No one would even notice, not even your own mother." Frank laughed, going over to the fridge himself to pick out the bottle Carla had thrown back.

Carla ignored him, instead going over to the cupboards, in search of something to eat. She would never let him see how much his words sometimes affected her. She needed him to be as insignificant to her as she was to him, to her mum…That one stung.

"There's nothing in." Carla mumbled, slamming the last cupboard door shut. They'd been empty, apart from the last of Frank's supplies.

"And why the fuck is that my problem?" Frank shrugged, raising the cider bottle to his lips, taking a long drink.

"Because you're supposed to spend your dirty money on shopping and paying bills!"

"And you know money's been tight recently, you thick bitch. My business-"

"Business?" Carla laughed, scarcely daring to believe that she was arguing back with him. "That's not a real business, it's pathetic, and it's disgusting. You asked me what was special about me, what do you think is so special about you? I can answer that one, Frank. Nothing. You're a pathetic little man. Scum of the-" Carla didn't get chance to finish what she'd been about to say. Frank's hand had come down across her cheek with such force that she was knocked off her feet, falling back against the kitchen counter. Before she could even put her hand against her burning cheek to register the blow, he'd grabbed hold of her hair.

"I've warned you, about running your mouth." He spat, his face dangerously close to hers. "I've warned you what trouble it could get you into."

Carla was sure that he'd have gone in for another blow, if his phone hadn't have rung. She found herself thrown back against the kitchen counter, before Frank turned to answered it. Shaking, she wiped her hands over her cheeks to remove any traces of tears, wincing when one of them came into contact with her tender cheek. It wasn't burning now, more of a dull ache, and would undoubtedly leave one heck of a nasty bruise. Her back was throbbing from coming into contact of yet another hard surface, with force. He seemed to like throwing her about. She was his own personal ragdoll.

_You shouldn't have done that, you just made things worse. You know what he's like. It's your fault he hit you._

Using the kitchen counter, she pulled herself back up to her feet, blinking once more to get rid of the tears that kept blurring her vision. She managed to catch the last half of Frank's phone call.

"Yeah, I'm not joking, mate. A hundred a month. It's yours, if you want it?...Is that a yes, then? Perfect, I'll see you tomorrow…After what? Oh, yeah that's, fine. Alright, bye."

Carla assumed Frank was talking about supplying, but was soon set straight when Frank hung up the call and he turned to her. Instinctively, she shrank back, flinching, but he only spoke to her.

"We're getting a lodger. Tomorrow. I'll need you to sort out that spare room."

"What?"

"Are you deaf? I said we're getting a lodger. He needs a room and we have one. "

Carla swallowed, hard, her mouth suddenly very dry. She knew the sort of people Frank was involved with.

"Is he someone you work with?" She tried to keep her tone casual, though it came out as an almost frightened sounding whisper.

"What's with the questions, for fuck sake! He's coming tomorrow, after he's done work or whatever. I don't know him, I just know he needs a room and he's paying. So go and sort out that spare room before I really lose my patience. You're doing my head in, today, I've got a good mind to knock your head off."

Carla chose this moment to quickly move towards the door, her head was still spinning from Frank's latest blow and she didn't need another bruise adding to her growing collection anytime soon. Anytime at all.

"Alright, I'm going…" She had no choice. She was well and truly defeated. And now she was well and truly terrified. She wanted to know exactly who this new lodger was. In her mind, she pictured someone exactly like Frank. Who'd sit around and do the same as Frank. Carla didn't have anywhere else to go, she didn't want to raise the alarm for fear of ending up in care and she had no idea where her mum was. She was on her own.

It took a few stumbles on the stairs for her to realise that tears were now flowing freely from her eyes, clouding her vision once more. Pushing the door open to the spare room, she couldn't see what really needed doing. The bed was made, unslept in. The sheets were clean. The room looked tidy to her, no one ever went in it. She gave the door a little slam. She wasn't going to make it comfortable for a stranger.

A stranger. Carla's heart raced at the thought. Heading over to her own room, she closed her door. Thinking for a moment, she attempted at pushing her drawers against the door, leaning over to try the handle once she had. It wasn't really heavy enough to be able to keep anyone out, but knew she couldn't manage to shift the wardrobe over. It would have to do. She flicked her lamp on and switched the main light off, quickly climbing into bed. It was only when she pulled the covers up that she realised how cold she was. Her cheek still ached from Frank's heavy blow, though it helped to lay back against one pillow, and press the other one against her cheek, the coolness of the material soothing.

She thought about what Suzie would be doing now, it was just after half eleven. She'd have probably had a hot shower, something to eat and would be settling down for the night. Michelle would probably be out, hours late, worrying her own mum sick. Michelle's mum cared enough to worry for her daughter. Suzie's mum cared enough to love her daughter.

Carla's mum cared to fuck off without notice, leaving her daughter with an abusive crackhead, who was going to let a stranger into the house she was forced to call her home. Tomorrow.


	3. Chapter 3

When you dread something, time speeds up. School was passing by very quickly, for Carla, who's heart thudded every time she glanced up at the clock. Registration. Break time. Lunchtime. Last Lesson. She was being extra difficult that day, to make up for how vulnerable she was feeling on the inside. She couldn't let Frank ruin her status at school. It was such a relief to feel as though she was powerful, in some way. Even if it was just disrupting her maths class.

"Carla, for the last time, close your mouth and get on with your work. You are making it extremely difficult for me to teach, today!" Mrs Scallon's shrill voice interrupted the conversation she'd been having with Michelle, who was planning a night out that coming Thursday. The teacher had set the class off to work, and was currently moving around the desks, helping students who were having trouble.

"Don't blame me! What's your excuse for not being able to teach, when I'm not 'making things difficult.'?" She answered back, causing Michelle to cover her mouth in order to muffle her laughter.

"And I suppose you thought that was funny?" Her math's teacher was at the front of the class now, her arms folded, her mouth pursed.

Carla gave a small shrug. "It wasn't supposed to be. I was stating a fact. I find it really difficult to work in your class." It wasn't strictly true, she could probably work out the equations on the board, if she'd took a blind bit of notice. Michelle's math's book had two rows of neat calculations, and she had done that whilst talking to Carla.

"Alright, then why didn't you ask Michelle for help? I can see from here she knows how to. She's done loads."

At the teacher's words, a few of the lads at the back sniggered, one of them calling out.

"Too right, she knows how! 'Loads', is a bit of an understatement. She's practically done the whole school!"

Before Michelle or the teacher could protest at what he'd said, Carla had turned her head, instantly sniping back at him.

"Er, you're just jealous because she wouldn't dare come anywhere near you, you fat wanker. Don't judge her by your mum's standard way of living."

Mrs Scallon well and truly lost control of her class, which as erupted at Carla's comment. Michelle herself was laughing, even though she was the one they'd insulted. She gave Carla a quick hug for her effort.

"Carla O'brien, pack up your things, get yourself out of my classroom and wait for me outside." Carla found a very angry, red faced maths teacher screaming at her, though she wasn't remotely bothered. She'd stuck up for Michelle, shown dickhead Daniel what he got for saying shit and she'd managed to get the rest of the class laughing along with her. It felt like power. It was unimaginable, the exhilaration she got from being able to say exactly what she wanted, when she wanted, knowing that she wouldn't suffer the way she did back home.

"Carla, that was brilliant! Thankyou! What did she give you?" Michelle asked, finally starting to head home with Carla, after she'd been kept behind.

"She's given me a detention for next Monday." Carla linked arms with Michelle, who'd waited for her at the school gates. Suzie hadn't been able to hang back, that day due to a dentist appointment.

" 'Don't judge her by your mum's standard way of living', that was genius, Carla."

Carla smiled, though it was a very forced one. She didn't want to go back. She didn't want to go back to Frank, the best of times, but even more so today. She was scared, terrified of who was coming to live with them. Carla wasn't sure how much more of Frank's aggression she could take, and what if this other bloke was the same? What if he was worse? She suddenly felt very sick.

"Earth calling Carla?" Michelle gave her a gentle nudge as they walked, it seemed as though she'd been speaking to her all the time she'd been going through scenario's in her head. "Are you alright?"

"Mm…" Carla mumbled a reply, when a thought struck her. "Michelle, are you busy, tonight?"

Michelle nodded towards a blue car on the corner, sighing.

"Yeah, that's Dean, we're going out...But, you're coming out with us all on Thursday, aren't you?"

Forcing another smile, Carla assured her she was, her heart sinking. She'd been about to ask Michelle if she could stay over at hers, at least then she wouldn't have to face Frank and his friend until the next day.

"I'll see you later, then…" Michelle gave her a look, but didn't push things any further. Carla would only snap if she thought someone was trying to pry into her private life.

After Michelle had got into Dean's car, Carla had leant back against the wall, watching them drive until she could see them no further.

Never had she walked so slowly in her whole life. She dragged her feet, counted to three between each step, anything to prolong the short walk back to the house. She now refused to call it her home. Because it wasn't. It was anyone's home. Anyone who wanted to fund Frank's habit. Maybe if she provided enough money for Frank's daily dose of drugs, she might just be more welcomed, but she wasn't ever going to stoop down to that kind of level. Not for anything.

The shower was running when she was finally inside, having not been able to delay her walk back any longer. After a quick glance in the living room and seeing no one, Carla assumed Frank was in the shower. She dumped her bag down on the floor and skipped through to the kitchen, deciding she'd grab a drink and head off to her room.

"Hello."

Carla jumped out of her skin, her hair blocking her vision momentarily as she whipped around, involuntarily jumping back against the door.

"Hey, sorry…I didn't mean to scare you…" He'd been sat at the table, numerous books and sheets spread out across it. It looked as though he'd been working.

Trying to calm her hammering heart, Carla took a few deep breaths, letting her green eyes meet the deep brown one's that were staring back at her. There was something different about this pair. She couldn't work out what it was. While she was stood there, watching him, not speaking, she noticed his hair matched his eyes; it was the same shade of brown, tousled slightly, as though he'd been running his hand through it, a lot. Maybe work had been stressing him out. That is, if he had been working. She'd just presumed he had. He was only young, nothing like she'd pictured in her mind. She'd been expecting mid thirties, with a pale face and pink rimmed eyes, the way Frank looked when he was smoking. But, he looked late teens, barely out of school. Not much older than her.

"I don't bite…" He gave her a nervous smile, unsure of what her manner meant.

He was _nervous._ Carla's brow furrowed in confusion. This wasn't what she was used to. She'd spent the day with her heart hammering against her chest, dreading the moment and here he was, looking as though he felt that way, himself. It gave her some of her confidence back. Just a little. She rubbed her lips together, swallowing hard, before speaking.

"Hey…" The sound still came out quieter than she'd have liked, though she kept her eyes on his, still trying to work out what was so different about them.

"Shall we do this properly, if I'm going to be here a while?" He held out his hand, giving her a warmer smile, this time.

Carla was weary until he'd given her that smile, which reached those eyes. She suddenly realised what was so different. They were warm. They were friendly. They looked directly at her. Not glazed over, or uninterested, or cold, but actually right at her. She could see right into them. Her hand rose up to meet his of its own accord, before her brain had even registered the movement. His hold was as soft as his gaze, his hand warm and instead of a shake, he gave hers a gentle squeeze.

"I'm Peter," He spoke in a hushed tone, and there was a slight huskiness to it. "Peter Barlow."


	4. Chapter 4

**[Authors Note: Just a short one to tide you over while I have time to get back stuck into this! The next chapter will have a little skip in time, just so I can get stuck into the good stuff, I don't want to bore you all to death! Thanks for keeping on reading!]**

Carla had to swallow hard again, before she could answer, he mouth becoming suddenly very dry.

"Carla…" She was surprised that she could even remember her own name, and forced herself to quickly get a grip. She was always in control. Giving his hand the slightest of squeezes back, she let it go, dropping her own arm to her side. Peter himself took a little step back, moving out of her way.

"What were you coming in for before I scared you?" He asked, walking back over to sit at the table, beginning to pile up the five or six books he'd had sprawled across it.

"I just wanted a drink…Do you want one?" She felt inclined to ask him, to be polite, though he wasn't really a guest, just a stranger who was going to be living with them.

"No, thanks, darling. I'm just going to finish this and then I'm thinking of going out."

Carla didn't think she'd had anyone ever call her 'darling' before, though it was much nicer than being called a dozy bitch, or a slapper, or a cow, or any of the other insults Frank so often threw at her.

"Finish what?" Carla found herself asking before she could stop herself. She didn't mean to be nosy, she wasn't even sure why she was even all that interested. Before, all she'd wanted to do was get a drink and head off upstairs. Now, she was over at the sink, refraining from turning the tap on so she could hear his reply.

"Just some coursework, I just need to pack up, really. I don't think Frank would like it if I left the table a state."

Frank didn't use the table, properly, anyway. Carla had only ever seen him sat there with large brown packages, an assortment of bags and a set of scales, carefully weighing out the substances which he sold. Actually, that was the only time Frank really put effort into anything. Carla had seen him engrossed sometimes, his brow furrowed in concentration as he tried to get the exact amount. He was all too careful when it came to drugs and money. He wouldn't want to waste a fraction of a gram.

"What're you working on?" After Carla had filled her glass, she made her way over to the table, taking a seat opposite him, running her index finger along the spine of one of the books.

"Just an assignment, I'm doing a business course at College." Peter had slotted his work back into his folder, closing it up with a relieved little sigh.

"You go to College? How old are you?" Carla was more than a little shocked at his revelation. College told her that Peter definitely wasn't a good for nothing prick, as she'd first assumed on learning that they were going to be sharing their house with someone.

"Yeah, I've only just started, though. I'm twenty-one."

"How come you're only just starting out? You could have gone straight from leaving school."

Peter gave a small nod, sitting back in his chair before speaking.

"Yeah, I could have. But, I left early. I went to join the Navy."

Carla leant forward a little, now genuinely interested in what he had to say. She asked him more questions, and he was happy to answer them. It felt like they'd been talking for hours, but in a good way. Carla forgot about Frank, forgot about school, even forgot where she was, as she listened to him speak. She learnt a lot about him, from that one conversation. It wasn't his experiences of being in the Navy that had her in awe, but they way he spoke. It was easy to tell from that one conversation that he was probably the most caring, unselfish person she'd ever come across. She liked the way his eyes lit up when he spoke about something that he was obviously passionate about, and noticed the little dimples in his cheeks when he smiled. Maybe she was biased, because she hadn't seen that many smiles, she wasn't used to them, so maybe it was the novelty of seeing one, but she found herself thinking that his smile had to be one of the most head-turning.


	5. Chapter 5

[ **Warning: Physical abuse in this chapter. And I am well disheartened from the lack of reviews, so tried to make this chapter a little more interesting.**]

Carla needed a night out. Badly. She hardly did anything as it was, what with money being so tight, but she'd started work in the corner shop on the end, just on weekends. It was her very first pay day and with money in her pocket, she decided she was blowing it on a night out with Michelle and Suzie.

That Thursday, she raced home from school, having promised to meet up with Michelle and Suzie at seven. Thankful that Frank seemed to be nowhere in sight, Carla skipped happily up the stairs, intending on a shower, though she couldn't help but take a sneaky glance through Peter's door, with was slightly ajar. He was leant over a few sheets of paper, his brow furrowed in concentration. He had a pencil behind his ear, and was subconsciously nibbling on the end of his pen. Light rock music was playing quietly from his CD player and he seemed to be absorbed in his work. He was always working.

"You can come in if you want, Carla…" The sound of his voice made her jump, she hadn't expected him to have realised she was there, let alone invite her in.

"How did you know it was me?" She asked, pushing his door open a little more, before stepping inside his room.

"Frank doesn't dance up the stairs like you do…Actually, Frank rarely ever makes it upstairs, he's usually passed out on the sofa."

"Yeah.." Carla mumbled, nodding in agreement as she carefully perched on the edge of his bed, not wanting to disturb the array of papers on the bed. "You've noticed?"

Peter gave an un-humoured laugh, giving a small nod of his own. "Too right, I've noticed. How do you live with that?"

"Peter, you say it like I have a choice." Carla leant back a little, her back resting against the wall, her arms folded across her chest in a rather defensive manner.

Looking up from his papers, Peter looked at her, really looked at her, taking in everything, from her school uniform, to her immaculately styled hair. She should be just an ordinary teenage girl, she certainly looked like one. But, she'd been forced to grow up so quick, and she was right, she had no choice. Where else could she go?

"Yeah, I know, I'm sorry…What're your plans then, ey? You rushed up those stairs like you were being chased."

Carla bit her lip, ruffling her hair up slightly with her hand, conscious of the way he was looking at her, suddenly needing to make sure her hair wasn't flat.

"I'm going out with Michelle and Suzie."

"Oh, nice. I wish I had time for friends." He joked, gesturing to the mountain of books piled up behind him. "Going anywhere worth knowing about?"

"Around town, to have a few drinks." She pulled her phone out from her pocket, glancing at the time. "I should be starting to get ready, actually.."

"Don't let me stop you, love. Have a nice time." He gave her another one of those warm smiles, through he became serious. "And be careful, yeah? In fact, if you struggle with taxi's, give me a ring and I'll come and pick you up."

"I'll be absolutely fine, Peter, but thankyou, I have school tomorrow anyway, so it's not like I'll be in late." She hopped happily off of his bed, it being nice to have someone to talk to when she came home, someone who seemed to genuinely care. Peter was definitely growing on her.

"You don't have to explain to me, I'm not your dad." He slipped his hand into his pocket, pulling out a neatly folded up twenty. "Here, get a round in from me. And while you're dancing the night away, spare a thought for someone who's having to slave away on coursework."

"Come with us?" She offered, instantly, shaking her head at the money in his hand.

"I'd love to, but I really do need to finish this. Some other time, ey?"

Carla's heart sank. Of course he didn't want to go with them. They were probably just a bunch of silly kids to him. Why would he want to hang around with her when he had people his own age? _Girls _his own age.

"Here…" Peter tucked the money in the front pocket of her school shirt, causing a ripple of shivers to run down Carla's spine. "Have a round on me, and I promise I'll come out with you next time."

"Thankyou… I need to get ready now. Do you want the bathroom before I shower?" She asked, taking a step back towards the door.

"No, you're alright, sweetheart. I'll see you later. And be careful, yeah?"

Carla had showered and was ready, at long last. Admittedly, she was running late. She'd chosen to leave her hair straight, pinning her side fringe back. Moving onto her make-up, she did her eyes smoky, sultry, applying a layer of clear gloss over her full lips. She'd tried on numerous different outfits, but eventually she'd tucked a black vest into a black sequin skirt, before pulling on a fitted leather jacket. Glancing in the mirror, she took in her reflection. She didn't think she looked like a kid. She looked older. Maybe Peter's age. She crept across the landing on the off chance Frank was back and peered into his room. Finding it empty, she went over to the wardrobe, rummaging around in the bottom until she found what she was looking for. A pair of killer platform stiletto's, belonging to her runaway mother. They'd cripple her, especially dancing in them, but they added inches to her height, made her look maybe even older?

It was five to seven, she'd got just enough time to head down and meet Michelle and Suzie on the corner.

"You look stunning." Carla turned around, her hair whipping around as she did. Peter had come out onto the landing, a mug and a bag of crisps in his hand. Carla's mouth was open a fraction, she had no idea what to say to him, though she willed herself to get it together.

"It's nothing special…" She tried to act casual, teaming her words with the gentle shrug of her shoulder, her heart speeding up rapidly when Peter took a couple of steps closer to her, his hand reaching out to stroke a strand of her hair, letting the smooth lock twist around his finger.

"_You_ are…" He breathed, his voice barely a whisper as he let her hair fall from his light hold, his fingertip resting just below her ear, which he traced lightly along her jaw. The action cause all of the tiny hairs on the back of Carla's neck stand up, she was frozen, hardly daring to breathe. He was looking at her, and she was looking straight back at him. And for a moment, it looked as though he actually cared about her. Her eyes fluttered closed for a brief moment at his touch, as her mind screamed at him to move closer. It didn't last long, it was as though he'd come to his senses.

"I'm sorry, you'll be late…" He blinked, his hand dropping to his side, his tongue flicking over his now dry lips. "Be careful…" He repeated his warning, and that same soft warmth flickered in his eyes, that look was back.

"I will…Night, Peter." Though she was disappointed, she didn't doubt that he cared for her. Not now. She wanted to wrap her arms around him; having someone who liked her being around, who showed that he enjoyed her company, was such a change from being dragged about by the hair.

Oh. Dear. Carla O'brien had drank her weight in vodka, or that's how it seemed. With her ears ringing from hours of blaring music, Carla had decided she'd had enough at around two in the morning. Suzie had left beforehand and Michelle was going home with Dean. To be honest, it had been a brilliant night, from what she could remember. Which wasn't a lot. Flashing lights, loud music and a lot of dancing. Well, grinding up against whoever might have thought they'd had a chance with her. But, it wasn't as if she'd ever go any further. She gave dances, not chances. Unlike Suzie, who seemed to have stuck her tongue down every lad's throat, who'd shown her a bit of interest. Carla thought she could have maybe kissed one or two, she seemed to recall the memory of stubble scratching against her cheek. She handed the taxi driver a ten pound note, telling him to keep the change. Of course, he wasn't going to refuse.

How she managed to get the key in the lock, she did not know. It had taken a lot of fumbling and cursing on her part before she'd fallen against the door, tripping over the small table beside the door, which had numerous pairs of house keys and car keys on top, as she stumbled inside.

"Shhh!" Carla hissed at the table, as the keys went clattering to the floor, stifling a little giggle. "Shush."

Her vision slightly blurred, she kicked her shoes off, letting out a little sigh at the weightless feeling she felt under the influence. Nothing mattered. Nothing else mattered. She had her friends, and she'd had an amazing night. Fuck the world. Nothing was going to bring her down.

"What the fuck are you playing at?"

Apart from that.

Carla took a step back from Frank, even her drunken mind told her that he was dangerous.

"Nothing…" She tried her best to stand upright, keep her balance, not to slur her words. It wasn't working.

"Are you drunk? Have you been out dressed like that? You mucky little slut."

"Like you care. You're off every night getting wasted. And I bet you were doing it at my age." Carla snapped back, as unwise as it was.

"It's got nothing to do with you what I did. While you're living under this roof, you'll do as I say, do you hear?" He was up in her face, spitting the words at her.

"Of course I can hear. You're shouting so loud the whole fucking estate can hear, you dopy bastard!"

The force of Frank's blow knocked her off her feet. She ended up hitting the floor painfully, flat on her back, he head spinning. Frank's punch had caught her square in the mouth. She could taste the coppery tang of blood in her mouth. And he wasn't going to stop. He was leant over her, his hand brought back to hit her again. Carla squeezed her eyes shut, letting out a little cry as she pleaded with him not to.

Had it worked? The second punch never came. She lay there, frozen, tensed, braced, but felt nothing. When she dared open her eyes, she saw that Frank was the one up against the wall and Peter was the one holding him there.

"Don't. Don't touch her. Don't you dare." Peter was spitting venom, and his eyes contrasted drastically with the gentleness from when she had last seen them. These eyes were dark, angry, almost scary. But, they weren't for her. They were for Frank. Mustering up enough energy to sit up, Carla backed against the wall, unsure of what Frank would do, scared for Peter's safety more than she was scared for herself.

"Get off me you prick." Frank gave him a rough shove, and though Peter stumbled a little, Frank was clearly shocked that it hadn't had quite the forceful effect that he'd hoped.

"I don't want you laying another finger on her." Peter murmured, his voice dangerously quiet.

"Unfortunately for you, Barlow, you don't make the rules. So, unless you go by mine, you can pack your bags and fuck off." Although he'd tried to sound menacing, Frank was weary of Peter. He wasn't going to push him any further. Instead, he gave him a warning glare, before walking straight by Carla, wrenching the front door open and heading out into the night. Carla flinched as the door slammed shut, her head now spinning painfully.

"Carla…" Peter was crouched down beside her, she felt a hand on her for the second time that night. A gentle one. His touch so light he was barely touching her at all. It was warm, which contrasted well with her cold cheek.

"I'm okay…" She murmured, though as she spoke he'd tilted her chin up, brushing his thumb over her lip, to which she flinched and jerked away, letting out a quiet whimper.

"Sorry, I'm sorry…" Peter moved her hair behind her ear, she could see her blood on his hand. "It's okay, I think you'll be alright. We just need to get this cleaned up." He assured her, hooking his arm underneath her legs, the other securing itself around her waist. She willingly accepted his gesture, allowing him to lift her up from the floor, before he cradled her against his chest. She trusted him. More than she'd trusted anyone before in her life.

"You don't have to…I can do it myself." Carla didn't want to be a burden to him. She didn't want him to think she was a silly kid that he had to take care of because no one else wanted her. She didn't want him pitying her.

At her words, Peter bundled her a little closer into his chest, her heart skipping as she felt his unmistakably soft lips, pressed against the side of her head.

"It's okay, I'll help you, I want to be here for you." He whispered, his warm breath caressing her ear as he spoke, which did more strange things to her heart beat, which seemed to go from skipping, to racing, to stopping all together. He could possibly be the end of her, heart failure for sure.

She huddled into him, she couldn't help it. Carla believed him. She wanted to, needed to, feel as though she had someone protecting her. No, not someone. Him. And in his arms, she couldn't feel anymore safer. She wasn't scared about Frank, she didn't care where he'd gone and she wouldn't care if he came strolling through the door again, hours later, off his face. Because Peter was there and he was holding her.

"Peter?" Her voice was raspy, exhausted, she didn't have the energy to tell him exactly how being in his arms made her feel, she just wanted to fall to sleep in them.

"Yeah?" He glanced down at her, stopping to move her hair from her face. He'd been heading over to the kitchen with her, wanting to help her get her lip sorted.

"Don't let me go."


End file.
